The Perfect Kiss

The words unsaid he writes them down for you. Forever immortalized, yet forever unsung to you.

Words of radiance, words that mourn, of little promises–Never made yet still broke

It’s the only time he ever feels wronged. Words bathed in a prodigious mirth, the irony to them untold.

Words stolen from a balm in Aiden, for the most radiant among the radiant maidens, little bits of magic unfolds— Perfect  little blemishes on his darkened soul.

In the restlessness brought on by the moonlit sky is when you come to him, a moment of dire weakness to the world unbeknownst.

For if ever a tear falls for you. He won’t ever let it show. He will take it to his grave cruelly uncried, a curious little sparkle in his eyes.

He will hide behind the decorum of the stern countenance forever worn. Stupidity, serenity, demands of a behemoth pride.

When the fiercest of winds blows his way, he’ll say your name. Say it with all the dull aches and the pain, for if the winds have a heart they shall now forever calm.

Some morning they’ll caress your face. Blow a lock, place a kiss.

And it were to make you smile, he’ll know. He’ll smile in turn with sealed lips, a scared and silent bow.

Beyond the magic of the most passionate kiss, the greatest of all sensual touches, the most magnificent of gifts


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